The Dentist and The Tooth-Fairy
by LoveIsATemple
Summary: Klaus and Caroline meet at a club on Hallowe'en night. Two-Shot. AU/AH.
1. Part One

**A/N: This is a two-shot I wrote a while ago. It's been gathering dust inside my computer, and since I've not been able to write anything for my full-length stories (I'm in Virginia for Thanksgiving/my father's birthday. Sorry!) I thought I'd offer the first part of this tale as an early Thanksgiving gift. Or curse, because it may or may not be awful. **

**Even if it is, I hope you enjoy it to the best of your ability and please don't be afraid to tell me what you thought when you're done. But remember to be kind, as I am easily offended and will probably end up burning down my house in a blind rage if somebody says something mean. **

**This part is rated T, but when I update the second part the rating will bump up to an M.**

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><em>It's killing me, <em>

_Yeah, the things that you can do,_

_That no one else can do to me at all._

_Killing Me | The Kooks_

* * *

><p><strong>The Dentist and The Tooth-Fairy <strong>

**Part One**

She won't stop fiddling with the different sets of drilling tools in my office. I want to snap at her, but she's my sister and she would only end up either crying or throwing one of the expensive tools at my face. I keep my mouth shut, waiting for her to finish telling me this intriguing story about a guy—of course it's a guy—she just met at the coffee-house down the street.

"He complimented my accent. Isn't that sweet?" She asks in disbelief, as if she's never before gotten a stranger's approval of her British accent.

I know this is false. Rebekah, my youngest sibling and only sister in the family, has received attention for her accent since we moved here twelve years ago.

She's bubbly, blonde, and slim. Blue-eyed, pale-skinned, red-lipped.

Men fall at her feet.

"Sweet, Bekah. Yes," I mumble, skating my hand over my face.

She has to leave soon. I've got to sort through patient files, a job I loathe, but if using it as an excuse gets Bekah out of my office, I'll exploit it.

Rebekah moves to studying the dentures I aligned along the windowsill a few weeks ago after I started receiving more elderly patients. She picks up a set and chomps them down, making a clacking noise that does nothing to ease my annoyance.

I love my sister, I do. But she just so happens to be the worst company. Loud, obnoxious, and she always goes through my things. Except instead of 'my things' consisting of legos and books like they did when we were children, they are now expensive dentistry utensils.

"He gave me his number," she says proudly, flashing a notecard in front of my bleary eyes. I see numbers waft in and out of focus, and a silly message that no doubt reads, "Rebekah, call me."

"Fascinating, Bekah."

It isn't fascinating. She gets a phone number a day, and that's on a slow day when perhaps her hair doesn't shine as bright as usual. "But, as fascinating as it is, I must ask you to leave."

The minute those words leave my mouth, Bekah pouts her Let-Me-Stay-With-You pout. I frown at her, shaking my head.

"But Nik! It's Hallowe'en! You shouldn't even be here!" She squeals, and I'm suddenly glad I've closed the office today. Rebekah is capable of producing very loud, screeching noises. My patients would run screaming from the building, terrified Godzilla was attacking, if they heard an upset Bekah.

"Oh, go annoy Elijah. He probably needs your help at the bakery anyway. He's in the process of baking all of those Hallowe'en cupcakes. I can't use you here," I say, though I know the reason she enjoys visiting me at my dentistry so often is _because _I never ask her to do anything. Our older brother Elijah runs a bakery and could always use an extra pair of hands. Especially on a "holiday" such as today's.

Bekah's pout deepens. "I want to spend time with you, though."

Lies.

Running my hands through my curls, I sink deeper into my desk chair and clench my eyes shut. "You are trying my patience, little sister. Don't make me call security again."

That seems to do the trick. Bekah still claims the worst, most embarrassing day of her life was the time I ordered security to drag her out of the building. I love my family more than anything, but sometimes I can't stand them.

Huffing, Rebekah walks to where she sat her purse on my desktop and sticks her tongue out at me in a show of pure maturity. She is twenty-three, for Christ's sake. And a fucking baby. Always has been, thanks to our mother's coddling.

"I hate you," she seethes as she stomps to the door. "God, you need a girlfriend, Nik."

I do nothing but smile at her and ask, "Could you get Camille? She needs to help me organise these files."

* * *

><p>I hired Camille five years ago when I started Mikaelson Dentistry. She was the best candidate that applied for the job of being my assistant. Luckily, she is so well-trained that I can use her for anything and everything I need in and around the office. Camille makes up my entire dental auxiliary team.<p>

Unfortunately, she is more exasperating than Rebekah.

I, Niklaus Mikaelson, middle child of Mikael Mikaelson (my grandparents parents were less than creative when naming him) and Esther Mikaelson, brother to Elijah and Rebekah Mikaelson, am not a people person. I never have been.

My parents, who are rich bastards, took me to event after event as an adolescent. There, I learned to hate the world and all of its inhabitants.

Everybody is fake. They flash their cash or their bodies to get what they want. They never let anybody _in_. They float around as if they own the universe, but never do anything to help it. Everyone looks out for only themselves.

Now, I am no different. I have wealth—an abundance of it—and I use it to my advantage when trying to get a women in bed with me. I shut the world out and lock myself inside my head.

At least I know what I do is wrong, though. Most people pretend they're saints.

Either way, I have never made a great effort to be nice to those around me. It's too difficult. Always smiling when you don't mean it.

Elijah has always labeled me a cynic. Someone too obsessed with the negativity in the world that I can't find the positive. But I think of myself as a realist. It's everyone else who's jaded. They try finding good where there is only bad.

I see the world for what is: hell.

Camille, unlike me, is an idealist. She's a romantic, truly—and it makes me sick.

Her boyfriend fucked her, got her pregnant, and left her, yet she still tries searching for the bright side.

Like how her four-year old daughter recently lost her first tooth, and Klaus, isn't that just so exciting?

"She's demanding I give her twenty dollars," Camille complains, still busy filing away paperwork. We sit on the floor next to the large wall of filing cabinets in the main office.

"Well, not me. The 'tooth-fairy,'" she clarifies, shooting me a pearly grin.

I don't necessarily _enjoy _Camille's company for one very good reason: she has convinced herself she likes me. And her infatuation is painfully obvious. Bekah never seems capable of keeping her comments on the matter to herself.

"_Oh, but Klaus she's so sweet. Why don't you go out with her?" _She says, like I've never actually _looked _at Camille and considered her.

I have. But the answer is still no.

For starters, she's got a daughter.

Children haven't ever piqued my interest. Elijah's got a two-year old and I can barely stand him. I never babysit, and I avoid holding him whenever I can.

Secondly, there's something about Camille, something I can't place, that _irks _me.

Perhaps it's her voice, which tends to squeak like Rebekah's. Or maybe it's the way she touches me _all the fucking time_. A graze on my arm here, a scrape against my calf there.

Camille flirts endlessly—tossing her hair this way and that, unbuttoning her blouse more and more until I swear I can see her bellybutton. Stretching so that a line of skin appears above her trousers.

She's desperate, I know this. She's been alone for so long, and I'm always here. I support her by giving her a paycheque every other week. I ask her how her night was when I'm sure nobody else has. We work late nights in close proximity. I know what perfume she wears, just as she knows what shaving cream I use.

There are explanations for her attraction to me. I'm not bad-looking and I have money. There would be certain advantages to dating me.

But I'm also emotionally unavailable. I am not what Camille needs. And she is not what I want.

"Twenty dollars is a lot, isn't it? Too much, I mean," Camille questions, eyes planted on me.

I don't look up from my file, but I nod. "For a five-year old? Yes," I say.

"She told me her best friend got twenty dollars from the tooth-fairy. That's why she's so fixed on that number," Camille explains, though I didn't ask.

I frown at the file in my hands. The tooth-fairy?

"How much did your parents put under your pillow, Klaus?" Camille asks.

Frowning deeper, I push the urge to laugh down my throat. "They never put anything under my pillow, Camille."

Camille blinks, shocked. I don't know why this is her reaction. A fairy that collects children's teeth and gives them money? As a dentist, that particular myth never sat right with me.

"Nothing?" She gasps, as if I've missed out on some great childhood pastime by never receiving a gift for losing my teeth.

I shake my head, amused by her reaction. "Nothing."

Sure enough, a hand encapsulates my upper arm. I freeze.

"That's so sad," Camille whimpers.

"Not really," I manage to get out through my clenched teeth. I have never been a big fan of unsolicited touching. It makes me feel helpless and trapped. Two things I take no pleasure in feeling.

Camille lets go of my arm and I immediately shuffle away, hoping she didn't catch the movement.

"Will you do the whole tooth-fairy thing with your children?" Camille closes a manilla folder and puts it away, her eyes burning a hole between my eyebrows.

This time, I do laugh. Hearty and free.

Children? Me? Does this woman—who claims to know me—not truly know me at all?

"No, I don't think I will," I splutter, saliva flying over the papers in my hand. I swipe at them with the sleeve of my blue, wrinkled Oxford shirt.

God, I feel like I've been at work too long. I look out the large window in front of us. The sun descended into the ocean an hour ago, taking with it the last remnants of warmth. Autumn is definitely upon us.

I rub my eyes and chance a look at Camille. Her blue gaze is planted on me. I give her the briefest smile and say, "It's probably time we pack this up and go home."

"Oh, no," she says, too quickly. "My mom's got Rachel tonight. I'm free as a bird."

I've come to know the phrase "My mom's got Rachel tonight" means "I'm secretly begging you to take me out tonight."

I inwardly groan, forcing a cough when the noise bubbles up my throat and nearly escapes out my mouth. "You need your rest," I say sternly. "Go on, I'll clean all the papers up. You'll need all the time you can get to think of a reasonable amount of money to give Rachel."

Camille smiles at my words and nods. "Okay, I'll go. Don't spend too long here after I leave, alright? You've slept here before and I recall you complaining about your neck for most of the following day."

"I'll go home," I tell her, already relaxing at the thought of my large, empty bed. "Goodnight, Camille."

Standing up, Camille brushes her jeans off and smiles sadly. "Goodnight, Klaus."

When she leaves—after spending many moments staring forlornly at me as I continued filing—I scramble to my feet and make my way to my office. In here, it's clean. Organised. The room smells of that strange apple-scented air-freshener Rebekah got me once she decided my office smelled too much like a dentistry.

I sit at my desk, folding my legs over one another on the wooden tabletop. I slip my feet out of my shoes. They clang against the floor. Tugging at my tie, I slip it off and unbutton my shirt.

Finally, I can breathe.

I lean back in my chair and my eyes drift close, the homeyness of my office and the gentle ruffle of leaves outside the window sending me into unwanted slumber.

When I wake, it isn't because I want to. It's because something is making an atrocious noise.

I open my eyes one by one to find my phone buzzing and beeping on top of my desk. Staring at it for a few seconds, I pick it up. Rebekah's name flashes on the screen, as does a photograph she took of herself on the phone when I first got it.

Sliding my finger across the bottom of the screen, I hold the phone to my ear. "Little sister. What can I do for you?"

"You _need_ to come to this party, Nikky. _Please _come!" She begs, her words slurred and breathless.

Drunk Bekah is not much fun to deal with. I glare into the phone and hope she can sense my annoyance.

"I'm working," I fib, rubbing a bit of sleep from the corner of my eye. I think of hanging up, but concern for my sister's wellbeing takes control and I find myself asking, "Do you have a ride home?"

Bekah giggles drunkenly. I hear loud shouts and horrid music in the background. God, I hope she's okay. Elijah would kill me if something were to happen to her.

"I do, I do," she tells me. "Don't you worry. Just come find me. I'm having so much fun, and you, my dear brother, need to have fun too."

"Just . . . tell me where you are, Bekah," I order harshly. Might as well go pick her up myself. Her friends are not the most trustworthy bunch.

"I'm at that new club. The Grill or something. It's just across the road from you. I'm a cat this year. You'll find me easily."

Twisting my chair, I look out the window. "I see it," I say, focusing on the building pumping with lights, people, and music. There's a large line outside. Freezing women and men stand huddled together, all of them dressed like lunatics. I glower at the blacked-out windows. "Stay where you are and I'll come get you."

I slip on my white dentist's coat and hurry outside into the cold, Hallowe'en night.

* * *

><p>"Sir, you can't come in here." A bouncer—a large, do-not-mess-with-me bouncer with a bald head and thick arms—holds out his arm to stop me from entering the club. He jerks his head. "There's a line."<p>

Sighing, I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. I stuff a few bills at him and frown. "Can I go in now?"

The bouncer nods his head solemnly, dropping his arm and motioning for me to enter. I do, and suddenly I'm surrounded by sweaty bodies, God-awful music, and alcohol-scented air. This is where my sister has a good time, apparently.

Everybody's dressed in some ridiculous costume or another. I spot a John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, and someone dressed as a unicorn.

Hallowe'en has never been a big deal to me, for no other reason than it isn't celebrated much in England. However, Bekah was only eleven when we packed all of our belongings and traveled across the pond. Unfortunately, this means she quickly became obsessed with the American culture, which includes going absolutely crazy on October 31st.

Under the harsh lights of the club, I try spotting anyone that looks remotely like a cat with blonde hair. After a few moments, I spot someone resembling my sister staggering on the dance floor, black leather wound tightly around her body. Holding in a groan, I fumble into the sweaty crowd. I push and shove my way to the girl, breathing a sigh of relief when I notice it is, in fact, Rebekah.

"You came!" She squeals when I tug her shoulder. She flings her arms around my neck, knocking me backwards.

"Bekah," I grunt, her grip surprisingly strong. "Bekah, get off of me." I untangle myself from her and hold her at arm's length. I glance over her quickly to ensure that she's safe. When I'm satisfied with what I see, I begin pulling her away.

"Oi," she cries, and I finally get a whiff of her breath. Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. "Get off me! You were supposed to come so we could have _fun _together!"

I stop moving. We're at the edge of the dance floor, being jostled this way and that by drunk college kids.

"Bekah, we're leaving. You're not well."

"I'm drunk, Nik. I want to stay."

Before I can forcefully drag her outside, a warm, sweaty hand claps my shoulder. I stumble forward, mostly out of surprise.

"Get your hands off of her!" Somebody, somebody with a sweet, welcoming, _angry _voice growls.

I whip my head around and find a woman—a . . . mythical creature?—glaring at me. At _me_! Giving her a quick once over, I see wings sprouting behind her shoulders. They shimmer a pinky gold, similar to her gold-dusted ballet flats. Wrapped like tape around her skin is a sparkling pink dress overwhelmed by sequins that cuts off right before hitting her (somehow) magnificent knees.

I feel the urge to block my eyes, she's shining so bright.

"I said, get your hands off of her," she repeats, forceful. Her blonde hair sticks to her forehead and bare shoulders. She looks exhausted, and yet I fear she could easily win in a fight.

"Relax, she's my sister," I shout. The music in here is too loud. I feel like I'm going deaf.

Bekah moves in front of me. "He's my brother, Caroline. Don't worry about it. Caroline, meet Klaus. Klaroline . . . wait, that's not right . . . Klaus, meet Caroline. There, I got it." Rebekah laughs triumphantly, but I'm not even sure what she's just said.

The woman—Caroline, I believe—takes a step back. I notice her breasts pressed against her dress, ready to spill out. I wonder idly if she can actually breathe in that thing.

She grabs her hips with her hands and glares at me.

"Who are you supposed to be, then, Klaus?" She asks, her voice curling with disapproval. She obviously heard Rebekah with no trouble.

"I'm not supposed to be anyone . . ." I respond, confused.

Caroline looks at me. She's got blue eyes that pop in the flashy lighting of the club. I realise belatedly that she's actually quite beautiful. Her pale skin—similar to ivory or fresh paper—glows, and her juicy lips burn a rosy pink.

_I want to kiss her_, I think to myself.

"A doctor?" She guesses, eyeing my coat.

I laugh, finally understanding her question. "I'm a dentist," I explain. "But a real one. I'm not dressed up. Just here to take my drunken sister home." I place my hands on Bekah's shoulders. God, her skin is damp.

"I'm her ride home," Caroline informs me.

I sense trouble ahead.

Bekah nods slowly. Drunkenly. "She is," my dear, dear sister slurs.

"How sober are you?" I ask Caroline, staring at her, checking for signs of intoxication.

Her sculpted eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously! I haven't had one drink tonight. That's why I'm the ride home."

"What? Do you want to stick a breathalyser in my mouth?" She asks when I raise my own set of eyebrows suspiciously.

That definitely wasn't the right thing to say to me. It's been roughly two months since I've had sex. That's a record for me since I lost my virginity at seventeen. The idea of sticking something in Caroline's mouth—though I hardly know her—awakens some carnal part of me that's been hidden for eight weeks.

Of course, she is rather pretty. And the magical being getup isn't helping my imagination. It's no surprise that in the back of my mind I see that dress torn to shreds on my apartment floor, her alabaster skin sliding against mine.

"I don't want to go," Bekah says, swaying. I grip her tighter.

"I need to get her home," I tell Caroline, worry for my sister sinking in my belly, just barely replacing my lust.

Caroline runs a hand through her sticky hair and shuffles next to me. "Let's get her home then," she says, turning Bekah around and hoisting one of my sister's arms around her shoulders. Caroline looks up at me, smiling at my half-open mouth. "Are you going to help me?"

Shaking my head, I mirror Caroline's actions and we walk Bekah to Caroline's car. Thankfully, she only parked a few feet down the road from The Grill. With some effort, we manage to shove Bekah somewhat comfortably in the vehicle. She presses her head against the cool glass of the window once the door closes.

Slapping her hands together, Caroline leans against the car and folds her arms beneath her chest. Wrong move once again. "Thanks for helping me get her out here. I hadn't realised how drunk she was."

I shrug, glad my coat offers some camouflage against the hard-on shoved against my trousers. "She's my sister."

"I know, but still. It's nice to know you care about her." Caroline pauses. "How did you get here so fast anyway?"

"I told you, I'm a dentist."

Caroline grins. "That doesn't explain much."

Stifling a grin of my own, I point across the road to my building. "I work over there. Mikaelson Dentistry."

"Ah," Caroline murmurs, stroking her chin with a slender finger.

I itch to touch her. To graze my own fingertip along the smoothness that must be her skin.

_It's been too long, Nik. Calm down. _

"Well . . ." she says, pushing off the car. "I better get her home."

"About that," I say as Caroline moves to the driver's side. She stops and waits for me to continue. "Is there anyway you could get her to my apartment? I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Why do you want her there?"

I nearly—but not quite—roll my eyes. "She still lives with my—"

"—Parents, I know," Caroline interrupts.

"Right," I say, wondering how long Caroline and my sister have been friends. And why it has taken so long for us to be introduced. Maybe Bekah fears a repeat of Genevieve. Not my proudest moment, sleeping with Bekah's best friend only to leave the redhead high and dry. "I don't want them to see her like this. They'll have a fit."

Caroline's gorgeous face morphs into understanding. "She has mentioned how strict they are. Okay then, where do you live?"

* * *

><p>"Thanks," Caroline whispers as I hand her a cup of steaming tea. Puckering her lips, she blows on the liquid. I watch steam dance around my dimly lit apartment.<p>

"Is she asleep?" Caroline asks.

I nod, peering at my guest bedroom door. "Yes."

After returning to my flat, I gave in and asked Caroline to stay for a little bit. Not because I want to sleep her. Okay, I do, but not tonight. Maybe not ever. For Bekah's sake.

Tonight, I want to talk to her. Ask her questions. Learn what makes her tick.

I'm assuming she's a wonderfully sweet girl, and I assume that is why I haven't met her before. But I've never just talked to female (excluding Camille) and I figure there's no harm in _just talking_ to Caroline. She did, after all, help me save my little sister.

"You can sit down," I say, collapsing onto my large, grey sofa. I pat the cushion next to me, holding back a smile when Caroline shrugs carelessly and sits at the opposite end.

We drink our tea in silence for what seems like an extremely long time. I don't mind silences, unless they're overtly uncomfortable, but this silence, while not uncomfortable, is unwanted. I specifically invited her to stick around so I could poke her brain. All I know about her at the moment is how she takes her tea and how she drinks said tea.

_One sip every thirty seconds. Like clockwork_.

"So," Caroline breathes. I startle at the silky sound of her voice, nearly spilling my tea all over my, once again, bulging lap. "How old are you?"

"Thirty," I answer automatically.

Caroline purses her lips thoughtfully. "I'm twenty-five."

_Christ, I'm old_. "I'd just started my dentistry when I was twenty-five," I inform her.

"Really? So young?"

She sounds genuinely impressed, but I don't let it get to my head.

"I zoomed through school and had enough money from my parents to get a business started. It fell into place quite nicely."

Caroline laughs in agreement, sucking another sip of tea through her pouting lips. "I wish I had that kind of determination. Or skill."

"What do you do?" I ask, glad for the easy segue.

"I'm a first grade teacher."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

Caroline glances at me. "I double majored in history and education, wanting to become a high school level history teacher. But, the elementary school was the only place that would hire me."

I whistle through my teeth. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, please. It isn't your fault. The high school positions were all full. I like little kids. It's not all bad."

What the fuck am I doing? I'm asking a woman questions about her life. And I'm sincerely interested in her answers.

I think I've finally gone crazy. Bekah always did say I was right on the cusp of spiralling into insanity. Too many hours at work, not enough sleep.

Not enough sex.

I don't care about people. It's how I survive.

Separate myself from the world so the world can't hurt me.

It's worked for thirty years, why is it all of a sudden _not enough_?

"Bekah says you're a lonely old sod," Caroline mentions, pulling me from my quarter-life crisis. I frown, which leads Caroline to giggle. "I'm only saying that because you don't seem like a lonely old sod."

I blow out a breath and drape my over the back of the sofa. "Bekah always was the most eloquent of us Mikaelson's," I say dryly, eliciting another giggle from the blonde sitting. So. Very. Close. To. Me.

Curling her legs beneath her, Caroline turns her whole body in my direction. I peer at her out of the corner of my eye. She's taken her wings off, but her dress is still tempting me. It slides further up her thighs, but she doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe she just doesn't care.

"You do seem sad, though," Caroline observes, and I immediately feel overexposed. Like I'm lying naked, tied to a bed, all of my secrets and scars on display. "What's got you so sad, Klaus?"

For a moment—less than a second, really—I contemplate asking if she's drunk. If she lied to me earlier and is actually wasted beyond belief, somehow able to hold herself upright. In that second I itch to throw away the question she's just asked. I beg myself to move closer until we touch, until I can breathe in her sweaty, perfume-ridden scent. Until I can lose myself once again in another human being.

I close my eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I count to ten and exhale, opening my eyes slowly. Caroline sits motionless inches away from me, her gaze wide and face contorted with concern.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, almost as if she's ashamed she asked me such an intimate question.

I shake my head. "Don't be," I tell her.

To be honest, I'm somewhat terrified that she's got me all figured out. _What's got me so sad_? I didn't know I _was _sad. I've got a good life. A good job, a great family. The only thorn in my side is Camille, but I've been dealing with her for four years and she's practically a nonissue.

Am I sad?

"I also took a lot of psychology courses during college," Caroline admits, her head bowed. Her fingers pick at a loose sequin on her dress. I fight the _need _to clasp her hand. To calm her. "You have most of the telltale signs of depression."

"Do I?" I ask, shocked.

"Most of them," Caroline reiterates. "I've known Rebekah for three years, and one thing she always talks about is you. How you're reckless and angry and uncaring. How you work too much and don't spend enough time enjoying life. You don't sleep enough, you don't _try _anymore. She's worried about you." Caroline adds the last part softly, as if it's some great secret. And maybe it is. Bekah's never said any of this to _me_

I really do feel overexposed.

"I don't know if I'd say you're clinically depressed, though," Caroline says absently. She's moved to another sequin. My sofa will be glittering pink when this girl leaves. "Just . . . lost. In need of some love, or something."

I say nothing.

I mean, what does one say in response to such an observation?

Thank you?

Caroline groans and smacks her forehead. "I'm sorry, Klaus," she says. "I don't mean to pry. I didn't know what you looked like before tonight, but I feel as though I've known you for as long as I've known Bekah."

I, for some reason, force myself to laugh. It's more a puff of throaty air than anything, but it relaxes me a little. "Don't apologise, Caroline. It's alright," I insist, though I'm really not sure if it is. "You caught me off guard is all."

I've worked hard all my life. I've distanced myself from reality. Pulled myself inside my own mind. I never saw a problem with it, but now I'm not so sure it's been as helpful as I previously thought.

Caroline opens her mouth to speak—to apologise—but I hold my hand up. "Please, no more saying sorry," I beg playfully, attempting to ease some more tension from the air.

Closing her mouth, Caroline goes back to picking at her dress. My hard-on has disappeared.

We transition into another silence, but this one is loud with unshed thoughts. Panic rises through me and I can see it piling on Caroline as well.

"When I was seventeen," I begin, startling Caroline so much she accidentally rips a load of sequins from her dress. I laugh breathlessly and continue before I lose my nerve, "I met a girl. Her name was Katherine and I fell in love with her almost instantly. I was seventeen, though. Love to a seventeen-year-old isn't what it is to an adult. It's silly and detrimental. But I was in love with her, and I think she was in love with me too."

I pause, staring at Caroline for some sort of clue. She nods her head tentatively and I swallow a gulp of air and speak again, "Long story short I noticed we were drifting apart the summer before I went to university. I was moving to America with my family, applying to colleges on the east coast, but I assumed we'd stay together. Make the long distance thing work. Three days before I left, I found her in bed with my former best mate. And I guess I've not been the same since. Heartbreak like that could turn anyone into a depressed, lonely old sod."

I mean for the last words to come out humorously, but they drip down my tongue with powerful gloom, so heavy it seems to blacken the whole apartment.

"Ha—have you ever talked to anyone about this?" Caroline's voice is tiny. A flicker of light in the darkness of my mind.

I look at her now, her face shining beneath the lamp beside the sofa. She really is stunning. "No. I told my family we broke up, but not the reason. It seemed too . . . _depressing_."

That makes the blonde next to me smile, and I feel like a weight has toppled off of my brain.

"So you were happy once?" Caroline asks.

"A long, long time ago."

"I'm—" Caroline starts, but I shake my head.

"No more apologising," I remind her. "It happened twelve years ago. I've gotten over it."

"You've gotten over _her_," Caroline says.

I give her a questioning look.

"You've gotten over Katherine," she furthers. "Not the damage it caused you."

This time, it's me who begins interrupting and she's the one who nearly slaps me in the face with her palm. "No, let me say this, please. I don't really know you, but I know this type of situation. From what Bekah has told me, added with what you've just revealed, you're still suffering from the aftereffects of Katherine's betrayal."

I sit in stunned silence, awed and outraged that this tiny woman whom I met mere hours ago, is evaluating me. I've had psychologists and therapists stare at me and provoke me, but they were usually too terrified of me to really examine my problems and attempt to solve them.

What makes the fairy-like thing in front of me so very different?

"Maybe now you can start recovering," Caroline says, and I snap my attention to her once more.

"Recovering?" I ask before thinking, my eyes drifting towards Caroline's full lips. She's been chewing on them. The rosy glimmer they once held has all but disappeared.

_I want to kiss her_.

"Your secret is out in the open." She waves her hand around briefly. "You don't have to carry it around anymore."

When I say nothing to either disprove or agree with her statement, she flushes brightly and shakes her head. Her hair, no longer sticking to her, floats around her shoulders.

"I should probably go," she mumbles, getting to her feet. I stand immediately, blocking her path. "It's late," she says, pointing to the digital clock mounted above the television that sits, unused, in front of the sofa.

I glance at the clock. 3:00 a.m. Shit, it's late. Or early. And I have work tomorrow.

"Are you okay to be driving?" I check, refusing to move out of her way. A stubborn part of me doesn't want her to leave.

"Not drunk, remember," she says dryly.

"I'm not worried about that," I assure her. "It's late, though. I wouldn't want you to fall asleep at the wheel."

"I think I'll be okay."

No matter how much I wish I could ask her to stay, I don't. I step aside instead, and watch her grab her keys from my kitchen island. She heads for the door.

"Wait," I say, turning around to grab ahold of her wings. "Don't forget these."

I hand them to her, nearly dropping them when her fingers graze the back of my hand, sending liquid flame through my veins.

I suck in a sharp breath.

_It's been too long, Nik. You're getting desperate_.

And that's it. That's what the little . . . _spark_ . . . was. My desperation.

I let go of the wings and Caroline takes them gratefully.

"Thanks," she says. "For helping me with Rebekah. And for . . . talking to me."

"It was a pleasure," I say, pondering momentarily if I truly mean that. I tilt my head towards the glittery wings under her arm. "What are you?"

Laughing fleetingly, Caroline gives me a crooked smile that melts a piece of my icy heart. "The tooth-fairy. It was a last-minute idea. I had the wings from a project I was working on with my class and the dress was an impulse buy from a year ago. But I kinda like it."

"You like being the pretend tooth-fairy?"

"I like representing childhood innocence."

Flicking the wings, I let out a sigh and rifle through my hair. "That's quite poetic."

Caroline's smile widens into a full-blown grin. "I switched majors from English to history after already completing two semesters."

"Ah," I breathe. "That explains it then."

Together, silently, we stand by my front door. Neither of us move. We do nothing but stare at different parts of each other's bodies.

"I'd better . . . go," she whispers. She turns around and unlocks my front door before twisting her head over her shoulder. "Have Bekah call me in the morning, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll make sure she gets ahold of you. She has your number?" I ask stupidly.

"We've been friends for three years, Klaus. She has my number."

"Right. Well, drive safe."

"Thank you," she says, opening the door.

Caroline exits the apartment gracefully. I stand in the doorway, watching as she saunters off down the hall to the elevator. She doesn't look at me, not even when the elevator dings and she steps inside. The doors close, but all I see is her glittery, pink-covered back.

And then she's gone.

I go back inside my flat, closing and locking the door silently, and nearly jump out of my skin when I spot a zombie-fied Rebekah standing in the kitchen. She looks confused. Sleepy.

Drunk.

"Was that Caroline?" She garbles. "I thought I heard her voice."

I nod swiftly. "Yes. She was just leaving."

"You didn't . . ."

"God, no, Bekah. I didn't. Have some faith in me." Her insinuation hurts me more than it angers me, but I can't help snapping at her. I've done it for so long.

Grabbing a cup from one of my cupboards, she pours herself a glass of water. She takes large gulps, draining the water in record time.

"She's nice, isn't she?" Bekah asks, swiping her mouth with her hand. She's still in her catsuit. I might have some pyjamas for her to change into.

"Yeah, she's very nice. And she's a tea drinker," I add, because this fact thrills me.

Speaking of the tea, I look around Rebekah and catch sight of Caroline's empty mug. I shuffle over to it and bring it to the kitchen sink along with mine.

"She wants you to call her in the morning," I say to Bekah, who looks as though she's falling asleep in the middle of my kitchen.

Bekah's head jerks. "Gotcha."

I walk to Bekah and take her arm, leading her to the guest bedroom. "Let's get you to bed."

She complies, sliding into the bed without one word of protest. I turn to leave, but her hand grabbing the tail of my button-up stops me mid-stride.

"I love you, Nik," she mumbles, dropping her hand.

A smile creeps over my face. "I love you too, little sister. I'll grab you some old pyjamas, okay?"

I look behind me, waiting for an answer, but she's already fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Rebekah walks to the kitchen table looking good as new. Minus the leather catsuit.<p>

I'm showered and dressed in more work clothes, but I bet I don't look nearly as nice as my baby sister.

She plops in the seat opposite me and grabs a slice of toast from the tray in the centre of the table. She nods her thanks, sinking her teeth into the golden bread and grumbling her approval.

"I called Caroline," she says after swallowing her bite of toast.

I try not to look too interested, but Bekah smirks and I know I've probably got the face of an excited child.

"And . . .?" I prompt.

During the night my dreams were haunted by a floating creature. Its wings brushed my heated skin. Its words soothed my thundering heart. It had on a dress of pink sequins, but halfway through the dream that dress disappeared. Beneath it was a beautiful woman, with supple, full breasts and smooth skin.

As I reached out to touch her, she leaned into me. I held her body to mine and in one swift movement we were joined.

I felt as if I were on fire when I awoke. My sheets were drenched in sweat and my thighs were coated in a sticky, white substance. But I was in euphoria, where no one could touch my happiness. Not even me.

I have to wait for Bekah to finish another bite of toast before she answers. Surprisingly, the wait is excruciating.

"She's glad I'm okay," Bekah says languidly, like I, her favourite big brother, am not dying right in front of her, "and she asked me for your number."

I think I feel my heart lurch to a stop. My jaw slackens and I drop the slice of bread in my hand. It clatters to the table and rolls onto the floor.

"Your dentistry number," Rebekah clarifies, not even trying to hide her mocking smile. "She's got a sore tooth and wants you to take a look at it."

"Oh." I dislike the disappointment in my tone. I clear my throat. "Okay, yes. That's wonderful. I could always use a new patient."

Rebekah simply nods at me, grinning as she finishes off her toast.

It isn't a request for me personally, but Caroline coming to my dentistry would offer more opportunities to see her. To speak to her and tell her more about my fucked up life.

It's not much, but it's a start.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Good? Bad? Ugly?**


	2. Part Two

**A/N: ****It's finally here! Long story short, the original document for the second part somehow got erased completely from my computer and I had to rewrite it from scratch. Sorry in advance for any repeated phrases and mistakes.**

**The M-ness of this chapter isn't so big that I'm changing the rating, but if you've got sensitive eyes, it gets kinda racy for a bit down near the end.**

**Thank you so, so much for the support of the first part! You all blew me away!**

**I really, really hope you guys like this! It was annoying to have to recreate, but I think it's got some merit. At least a little.**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><em>You can help me out,<em>

_I want to love you again._

_'Cause I feel so cold without sun,_

_And you're the one I can't run from._

_Killing Me | The Kooks_

* * *

><p><strong>The Dentist and The Tooth-Fairy<strong>

**Part Two**

Camille is staring at me again. But this time, I note, it isn't with lust or longing. It's with sorrow. A melancholy gaze, fixed right on me.

It is making me extremely uncomfortable.

"Is something the matter, Camille?" I ask her, scribbling my signature on yet another form and handing it back to my blonde assistant.

She shakes her head, but even that movement overshadowed by gloom. "Nothing, no," she says, and I definitely don't believe her. "I've got a question, though."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what question is that?"

In the five years she's worked for me, I've gotten quite used to seeing Camille's I'm-Going-To-Ask-You-Something-Personal face. So, when she begins blinking incredibly slowly as she stands in front of my desk, and starts lathering her lips with too much saliva, my heart sinks. The last time she got it into her head that she wanted to know something personal about me, I heard her crying in the bathroom after she left my office.

"That Caroline woman, is she your girlfriend?"

My hand runs off the page I was in the middle of signing, trailing blue ink across the clean paper. I stare at the line, then at my incomprehensible signature, and then up at a furiously-blushing Camille. Funnily enough, I feel my own cheeks heating.

Except it isn't funny, because I. Do. Not. Blush.

Glancing at the calendar, I note it's been nearly two months since I met Caroline. Christmas is just around the corner. Snow falls outside the building while children huddle near their fireplaces, all awaiting Santa Claus's return.

Since we met on Hallowe'en, we've been bumping into each other more and more. By accident, of course. I don't seek her out. Not intentionally at least. Perhaps once or twice I absentmindedly went to a place (a bar or a restaurant) because Bekah mentioned in passing it was one of Caroline's favourite spots in our small town, and the blonde fairy just so happened to be there at the same time.

Mostly, though, the reason we see one another is due to Rebekah's poor scheduling skills. The girl's plans overlap, meaning I typically end up at a café with Bekah _and _Caroline, or Caroline finds herself barging in on mine and Bekah's lunch.

One time, after my little sister had disappeared to the toilet, Caroline whispered that she thinks Bekah is scheming to get us together. I told her Rebekah isn't that smart.

Secretly, of course, I pray Caroline is right. Bekah has said nothing to me of her plans (not that she would), but it does seem awfully strange how _often _she double books Caroline and myself.

For someone who's spent practically their whole life avoiding relationships and women like Caroline, I've found my thoughts drifting towards her more often than not. If there's a lull at the dentistry, I can't help but _think of her._

Her hair; the way she smells; how her eyes glow against the sunshine. The soft voice she uses when she speaks to me.

She frightens me, for no other reason than these feelings are utterly _alien_. It's almost as if I've been replaced by the teenage version of myself. The person I used to be when Katherine was my whole world.

The _fool _I used to be.

I can't honestly compare this—this . . . thing . . . with Caroline—to my relationship with Katherine, though. Back then I was nothing more than a lost teenager aching for human contact. I was alive with hormones and lust, and Katherine was the only girl in a thousand miles to approach me and make me hers.

Today I'm an honest businessman, working hard to get money and stay upright in this downturned world. I still itch for a woman's touch, but the urge isn't so strong anymore. I don't crave the company of other women like I used to.

To be honest, though, it's been _months _since I've had sex, and it's beginning to wear me down. At first I was too busy to bother looking for a one-nighter, no matter how desperate I was to release the pent-up sexual energy inside of me. But, as time went on and I began spending more time with Caroline, I just _stopped searching_ for potential one night stands. I didn't want the women I saw anymore.

I still don't, four months after my last romp.

And it's because of her.

And that's terrifying.

I don't know what's happening to me. It's like I've been switched with someone else. I am still in my body, but my mind—my _heart_; my_ soul_—is not my own.

Christ, I'm turning into Elijah. Poor, pathetic, married-with-a-kid Elijah.

Even worse, I'm turning into Camille. The girl who's spent the last four years trying to gain my attention. The girl staring at me, waiting for my answer.

I need to stop pining after the tooth-fairy. It's unmanly. Unbecoming. Unrequited, I'm sure.

Desperation does not suit me well. Because if I've realised anything in the past two months since our paths crossed at the Grill on Hallowe'en night, it's that what began as innocent flirtation and attraction has transformed into sticky, lamentable _romantic attachment_.

I find myself shaking my head and saying, "No. Of course not, Camille. When have you ever seen me with a girlfriend?"

The words come out harsher than I mean, like I'm attempting to spew my _feelings_ for Caroline out of my mouth by raising my voice at Camille.

I take a deep breath. "Sorry," I say, meaning it. "But no, Camille. She is just a patient."

_A patient with the most glorious teeth I've ever seen. _

Teeth that take up her whole smile, that automatically brighten her face.

Camille silently hands me a fresh form to sign. I look over the paper, my mind somewhere else, and scribble my signature.

"Do you think that form is okay?" I point to the inked paper I'd been signing when Camille asked her question. "With the line of pen?"

Smiling sadly at me (does she ever smile _happily _at me?) Camille says, "Yeah, it'll be fine. I'll white it out."

I nod. "Thanks, Cami," I say, knowing my use of her nickname will automatically make her feel better.

She looks as though she's about to say something—perhaps ask me on another date without actually asking me on a date—but the phone begins ringing out in reception. Camille places the stack of paper in her hands on my desktop and scurries out of the room, leaving the scent of her overpowering perfume in her wake.

I mindlessly sign paper after paper in my office as Camille busies herself with double checking appointments and writing postcards for the patients who are in need of a checkup. I've had a fairly light schedule today. Three patients, all who ended up needing fillings. Two I got done there and then, but one we've needed to make an extra appointment for.

It's almost closing time when I glance at my phone and notice a missed call from Bekah. Wondering what on earth she might need this time, I pick the device up and call her back.

She picks up on the second ring. "Brother, what's happening, dog?"

I close my eyes, tight. "Where do you come up with these greetings?"

"The 21st century, Nik. They're everywhere," she says spookily.

"They don't suit your accent, Bekah. Trust me."

I hear her click her tongue in disappointment. "Fine, I'll stop with the weird phrases."

"Thank you. Now, why did you call me earlier?"

"There's a Christmas party I want you to come to."

I lean back in my chair, watching Camille pack her things. "When is it?"

Bekah pauses, which annoys me. She's never been very good at finishing her sentences. I've wanted to get her checked for her attention issues since she was a child, but that never happened.

"It's tonight," she says eventually. "Right now, actually."

A sort of gurgling noise rises in my throat. I lift my free hand to my face and rub my temples with my forefinger and thumb. This is such a Rebekah thing to do. Spring an invite on me to a party that just so happens to be in full swing when she asks me to join her.

"It's tonight?" I ask, annoyed.

"Yes. That a problem? It's not going to end for a while, so if you want to arrive a bit late I won't mind."

"Why couldn't you have asked me, I don't know, a week ago? Yesterday? This morning, even?"

She doesn't respond to my questions. Instead, she says two measly little words that have me out of my seat and tearing off my white coat, asking hurriedly where the party is being held.

Rebekah laughs at me through the phone, but I can't find it in myself to care. "Take a wild guess."

I look out my office window at the Grill. Green and red and white lights string around the building. A line has formed. People freezing in their festive outfits wait for the bouncer—a different one from Hallowe'en—to grant them access to the world inside the most popular nightclub in our town.

"I'll be there in a minute," I say.

"Okay, I'll let Caroline know you're coming. She'll be happy to see you," Bekah says, and I know she's smiling.

**.1.**

"Did you have to pay the bouncer to let you in again?" Caroline asks as she approaches me, taking in my work attire with a small smile. Her brows pull together the tiniest bit in confusion, but I'm not about to tell her I came running before Camille even shut the dentistry door just so I could see her.

_I want to kiss her_, I think again, again, again. It seems I'm unable to be in a room with her for more than one second before that dangerous thought enters my mind.

She's dressed in a strapless red cocktail dress with some intricate, flowery design on its top. It comes in at her waist before flowing out like a ballerina's tutu. The skirt—which looks scratchy and almost uncomfortable—ends mid-thigh, giving my eyes a good glimpse of her strangely attractive knees. Even at Christmas she looks like a fairy.

I, on the other hand, have on a blue button-up and black slacks. Not Christmassy in the slightest.

Swallowing thickly, I shake my head, praying she can't see the quivering vein in my neck. "I think they know I'm a VIP at this point. I simply walk to the rope and it swings aside for me," I lie. I paid fifty dollars to get in tonight ahead of the line. But I won't admit that.

Caroline grins warmly. It soothes me somehow, to see those pearly teeth secretly laughing at my horrendous joke. Her lips tonight are a pale pink and match the tint in her cheeks. I wonder if her blush is a result of the drink in her hand or me.

We settle into a silence. I spend my time watching Caroline as she twitches and fidgets. She drains her glass, her head poking around the packed club, most likely in search of my sister.

"I'm going to head to the bar and grab myself a drink," I say as the silence drags on too long. It's charged with something. And I don't like it. I stare at the empty glass in Caroline's hand. "Do you want a refill?"

Caroline startles, as if she hasn't really been with me in the room until just then. Her eyelids flutter and she looks unfairly beautiful in the club's dim lights.

"Uh, I probably shouldn't. I'm supposed to drive…" she says, offering me a small, almost coy smile.

The spread of her lips jolts my lust awake, and I think of as many disgusting things as possible in rapid succession so the pressure beneath the waistband of my trousers disappears.

I nod at her when finally I can see straight. "Understandable," I say, attempting to muffle my own smile. "I'll be right back," I tell her, and slip away to the bar.

It may not be as crowded inside the Grill as it was on Hallowe'en, but the bar is overrun by women calling to the attractive, blond bartender, who looks flustered and out of his depth. He doesn't see me at first. Too busy being flirted with.

"What can I get you?" He asks when he's able to pull away from the crowd of salacious women. Most of whom don't even look old enough to drink.

"Bourbon, on the rocks," I say, surprised at the hint of civility in my tone. I'm usually gruff with bartenders, but this man seems tired and worn. A man can only take so much attention from overzealous women before he feels ready to expire.

The bartender smiles at me and gets to work fixing my dink. He takes his sweet time on the simple order, probably taking note of the long line of new female customers pressing their breasts against the bar.

"Well, hello Mr. Mikaelson," a sultry voice says next to me.

I look down, shocked that anyone besides my sister and Caroline know my name here, but I quickly notice it's one of my patients.

"Hayley," I say by way of greeting.

Hayley's always been a bit too handsy for my taste. And I've got a strict rule about not sleeping with my clientele. But Hayley never seems to give up.

She's essentially a more aggressive version of Camille.

"What brings you here?" She asks, sipping her fruity-scented drink through a straw. She bats her eyelashes at me seductively.

My immediate instinct is to say _Caroline_, but I hold my breath and instead say, "My sister invited me."

"How nice of her," Hayley says, scooting closer. She smells of too much perfume and far too much alcohol, and I feel the sudden urge to throw up.

"Drink, sir," the bartender says upon returning. He places a small glass filled with amber liquid and three pieces of ice in front of me.

"Thank you…" I pause, waiting for him to fill the silence with his name.

"Oh, uh, Matt," He says, mouth pulling into a thankful smile.

I wonder how many people actually thank him, let alone ask for his name. Honestly, I'm not even sure why _I_ asked. He just looked helpless. And friendly.

Caroline has been a bad influence, always being polite to our servers when I join her and Rebekah for meals. Since when do I care about strangers?

"Thank you, Matt," I say, bowing my head slightly.

"So, Klaus," Hayley says when I begin walking away. I groan inwardly and roll my eyes. I look for Matt, maybe for help, but he's gone. Aiding some drunk-looking redhead. "I was wondering when I'm needed next."

I scrunch my eyebrows. "Needed for what?"

"Well, when _you _need me next."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask sharply, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Hayley's got that look in her eyes I know all too well. A woman slightly inebriated, finding herself in the company of a handsome man who just so happens to be wealthy. Bonus points if she knows you and has been trying to sleep with you for some time.

It's as if I've finally given her the right opportunity to lure me into her bed by showing up here tonight. Maybe she thinks she's going to get lucky.

I take a quick gulp of my drink, appreciating the burn as it creeps like silk down my throat.

"Silly," Hayley laughs, swatting my arm. I jerk back instinctively. "My next appointment. For my teeth."

Oh. Right.

"Hayley, you're not scheduled to have another appointment for five months. I saw you just three weeks ago."

_You remember, don't you? When you blindly reached for my crotch after nearly biting my finger off when Camille accidentally squirted water in your eyes? _

Maybe it wasn't such an accident. Camille has always been jealous of the brunettes that come into my life. She's never seen me with a blonde. Well, not until Caroline.

"Okay, yeah, but I've got this awful toothache."

_Liar_, I want to say. But I hold back. I've often found Hayley attractive, but tonight she's doing nothing but grating my nerves as she stands dressed in a tight, revealing black dress that she looks far too uncomfortable in to be considered sexy.

Maybe my near-revulsion is due to the fact that I've left Caroline for too long on her own. Who knows if some other attractive, rich, British man has already taken his place beside her?

Feeling a rush of unease at the thought, I swivel my neck in search of a puff of blonde hair. I spot her standing where I left her, alone minus my sister. They appear to be laughing at something.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I checked your teeth three weeks ago, Hayley. Unless you've been on a sweets binge since then, your teeth are fine and the ache should go away by itself."

"And if it doesn't?" She says when I make to push off the bar for the second time since she cornered me.

"Call the office in a week and I'll have Camille pencil you in for an appointment."

Hayley touches my arm again. Only this time she clutches it in her long, spider-leg-like fingers. "Thank you," she purrs, and I want to open my mouth and scream.

"Hey, Klaus, I changed my mind about that drink."

I whip my head around so fast I see stars shining on Caroline's gorgeous face. She glances between me and Hayley—lingering on the hand encapsulating my bicep— three times before her eyes land on mine. She smiles, wide.

Hayley's grip on my arm tightens. "Klaus, who's this?"

Caroline offers Hayley her hand before I can say anything and introduces herself. "I'm Caroline."

Hayley is forced to remove her claws from my arm lest she come off as a rude, cold bitch. She is a rude, cold bitch, but I'm sure she doesn't want everyone knowing.

"About that drink," Caroline says when she lets go of Hayley.

"R-right," I stutter embarrassingly. "What was it?"

"G and T," she says.

I turn towards the bar, thankful that Matt is close by. "Can I get a G and T?" I holler.

"Sure, man," Matt says, facing him. His eyes light up. "Oh, hey Care." He flicks his wrist at Caroline.

"Hi, Matt. How are you?"

A spike of jealousy runs through me. I guzzle the last of my drink and slam the glass down on the counter.

I'm not used to this feeling, and I severely dislike it.

"I'm good. How about you?" I hear Matt ask.

Hayley's been pushed away from me by a horde of thirsty college girls. I can see her sulkily making her way back to her group of friends.

"Good, good," Caroline answers. "This is my friend, Klaus," she adds, and my ears perk up at the sound of my name cascading out of her mouth.

"So," Matt says, sounding sly. "This is Klaus."

The unfamiliar jealousy leaves my body, replaced entirely by smugness. "You've spoken about me?"

"You fixed my tooth," she says in explanation. "I was singing my praise."

She sounds calm, but I swear I see a new tinge of pink mar her smooth cheeks.

"That, and she likes your accent," Matt mutters, loud enough for both myself and Caroline to hear.

I immediately decide I want to be friends with Matt.

"My accent, huh?"

"Oh, stop ganging up on me!" Caroline whines, and she sounds so adorable when she's flustered. "I don't know why I'm friends with you," she says, glaring at Matt.

"Because I saved you from a _vicious _spider attack when we were six. You owe me your life," Matt says.

So they've known each other for nearly two decades. Surely if something were to have happened, it would have happened by now. Right?

I hope so. I don't feel up to competing with an All-American. Matt definitely looks like he could pummel me into the ground.

Christ, I'm being paranoid. And when did I start describing incredibly attractive women as _adorable_?

"Yeah, I suppose I do," Caroline concedes, taking her drink when Matt hands it to her. I notice neither make any effort to touch hands, and another chunk of icy jealousy melts away.

"See you around," Matt says kindly. "And Klaus, it was nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Um, yes. Thanks for the drink," I say, flustered. "It was nice to meet you too."

Caroline leads the way back to Bekah, head shaking. The parts of her back visible between the strands of her hair appear shaded pink.

She's embarrassed.

Is that a good sign?

The women I used to spend my time with didn't often get embarrassed. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

"You know, I went over there to save you from Hayley, but I'm kind of regretting it now."

"You know Hayley?" I ask, ignoring the rush that runs through me at her words. _She wanted to rescue me from another women. _"She didn't know you."

We've reached my sister. Bekah looks at me funnily, and I frown at her.

"Uh, yeah. She kind of ruined my last relationship. Never met me."

I want to ask what happened, my curiosity nearly getting the better of me, but I refrain. I probably don't know her well enough to be privy to that sort of information.

"But anyway," Caroline says. "Bekah here was telling me about that one time back in England when you accidentally shot a bird with your dad's hunting rifle. Care to expand on that story?"

**.1.**

Neither of us is drunk, but I feel maybe we are. I have a fuzziness spreading like roots through my whole body, like I'm hopped up on Nyquil, down for the count with a horrendous cold. And Caroline. She's swaying to the loud music, which seems to have only gotten louder as the time's gone by.

Bekah's at the bar currently, talking animatedly to Matt. Hand gestures and everything. She only uses hand gestures when she's got a crush on someone. Thankfully Matt—who seems less tense now that two other bartenders have shown up—looks profoundly interested in what Bekah's saying, which makes me question what she's saying to him. And also his sanity, because I've never seen anyone look at my little sister with so much fascination.

"Your sister's got the biggest crush on Matt. It's so cute," Caroline says, _swaying_. I want to reach out and grab her, wrap my fingers around her waist and pull her to me. Hug her, kiss her, lick her.

"I guessed as much," I say. "Not sure about how 'cute' it is, though."

Caroline swats my arm, similar to Hayley, but this touch is welcome and _wanted_. "Oh, relax. He's kinda in love with her too. She may get all those numbers, all the time, and he may be surrounded by screaming fans, but they genuinely care about each other."

"Why haven't they taken the plunge into coupledom then?" I ask, acutely aware of the similarities between Matt and my sister, and Caroline and me.

"They're scared," Caroline says nonchalantly, throwing her hair over one shoulder. Her creamy, delicious-looking shoulder. I bet she tastes of salt.

"Of what?" I ask, my eyes glued to Caroline's exposed flesh.

"Of everything. Relationships are terrifying, Klaus. You know that better than any of us, I think."

I peek at Caroline. "What does that mean?"

"Well, you're afraid of commitment because your first girlfriend tore your world apart by cheating on you. You know how suspenseful dating can be. How awful the fear of heartbreak is."

Once upon a time, I would have lashed out. Yelled at this girl for what she's just said.

But she's right. And I see no point in arguing with her.

Except I'm not so scared right now, of commitment. Not with Caroline standing in her pouffy dress right in front of me.

Caroline glances at the ceiling above our heads. I see her throat convulse as she swallows. My mouth dries at the sight.

When she looks at me again she's not breathing. We're so squished in this damn club that when she moves closer to me, our chests bump. The touch sends a shiver of want down my spine. It gathers in my belly and steadily effects my need for release. A release that's been building for months.

"What is it?" I ask.

Caroline lifts her eyes to the ceiling briefly once more. "Mistletoe," she breathes. She smells of gin. I've always loved gin.

I've been imagining for months now how it would feel to finally kiss Caroline. Her lips are always plump and pink. Always taunting me. It's gotten to the point that I've found her in my dreams.

But nothing—not a million kisses with a million other women, not Katherine, not _anything_—could have prepared me for the moment Caroline tilted her chin up and let her lips drag across mine as we stood, _swaying_, beneath the mistletoe.

Her lips are there, on mine, sucking and clamping. Her hands curl around my neck, play with my hair, push my mouth _closer_.

I feel a surge of hunger gallop underneath my flesh. I close my eyes and grasp Caroline's waist with my hands, pressing our bodies together. I gasp when my pelvis meets her lower belly. Her hip bones jut against the pockets of my slacks.

I don't know where I am. Who I am. All I know is there is this girl—this spectacular, wonderful, beautiful girl—kissing me, and I know I never want it to stop.

It doesn't last very long, though, and soon the warmth of her lips leave mine. I can taste the gin on my bottom lip as I swipe my tongue along it.

Her hands unwind from my neck after a couple of tortuous seconds, and I quickly follow by letting go of the dip of her waste.

"Mistletoe," she rasps.

I look up, noticing the dangling leaves. My fingers trace my sensitised lips and I smile despite my best efforts not to. When I return my focus to Caroline, I see she's smiling too.

* * *

><p>"Why haven't you called Caroline?" Rebekah asks coldly.<p>

Christmas has passed and, after a horrible, drunken accident at our parents house during their Christmas Eve party, Bekah has been forced to stay with me.

Why Elijah couldn't take her in, I do not know.

I shift awkwardly, disliking Bekah's intrusive question. I take a swig of tea to stall.

"What do you mean?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.

Rebekah smacks me over the head with the magazine she's been reading before returning to her breakfast. "She told me about the kiss! And then you said you'd call her, and you haven't called her!"

Guilt—new and ugly to me—slips its way into my bones. I shiver.

After the kiss, Caroline had to leave. Something about needing to see her mother first thing in the morning.

I'd still been on a high from the feel of her lips on mine, but I managed to ask her if she was well enough to drive. It reminded me so much of the first time we met, of how much had happened—how many _platonic-but-infused-with-definitely-not-platonic-feelings_ things had happened—since then, that I freaked out.

I don't _feel _things for women. They are play toys. Scratches to itches.

There are no exception to those rules.

I haven't called her yet. Because she really was right when she said I was afraid of commitment. It seems even Caroline can't cure me of that.

She told me she was fine to drive and I watched her car disappear from view, and now I live in a constant state of guilt and unease.

The dentistry is closed until after New Years, which seems like an awful choice on my part now. Seeing as I don't have Camille or my patients to distract me from my woes.

I only have Rebekah, who is dead set on making me _talk about my problems. _

"Well, Nik? Why haven't you called her?"

From the moment I began admiring Caroline, I never thought about her friendship with my sister. If anything their closeness was a plus for me because it meant I could see Caroline more. But I'm realising I should've stayed far away from any friend of Rebekah's, especially her best friend.

I don't have to worry only about hurting Caroline. I also have to worry about Bekah's violent wrath.

"Come on, Nik! You knew she liked you!" Bekah whinges, smacking me again.

"Would you stop doing that?" I bark. "I'm trying to eat."

Like the mature adult she is, Bekah responds to my request by hitting me repeatedly. "I'll stop when you answer me!" She says, landing a hard slap on my cheek.

"Ow, fine, fine!" I say, but she doesn't stop. I sigh, but it turns into a grunt when Bekah catches a bruise on my chin still there from when a young boy didn't appreciate me poking around his mouth. "Fine! Bekah, stop it! I haven't called her because I don't know what to say!"

The magazine falls, landing on my marmalade-lathered toast.

Bekah looks at my ruined breakfast and then at me. She smiles apologetically. "Oops. Sorry Nik." Her face hardens in the blink of an eye. She frightens me with her mercurial tendencies. "What do you mean you didn't know what to say? How about, 'Hey, that was a really nice kiss—wanna go on a date sometime?'"

"First of all, I do not sound like that," I accuse, strangling fear coiling around my throat. I'm beginning to sweat. "And secondly, I would never say that."

"Of course you'd never say that! You've never asked a girl out before in your entire life!"

"What? That's not true. I've asked out plenty of girls!"

"Yeah, to your bedroom."

I scrunch my nose. I don't like hearing Bekah talk about my previous conquests.

"Katherine was your only girlfriend, Nik. And it's been, what, nearly fifteen years since you two broke up?" Bekah asks, but I know she's got the date Katherine and I split memorised. "You like Caroline. I know you do. And she really, really likes you. Why else do you think I 'accidentally' invited you _both _out to eat so many fucking times!"

I point my finger and shout, "Aha! We were right…" But I let my sentence drag off.

"Yeah, Nik. Congratulations," Bekah deadpans. "Tell me why you haven't called her. Really."

"I told you!" I say. "I don't know what to say to her."

"Ugh, Niklaus!" Bekah shrieks. She never uses my full first name. She must be incredibly pissed off. "What the fuck did Katherine do to you that's got you like this? A new girl every night won't cure you of it, Nik, I promise."

I roll my eyes. "She slept with Marcel, Bekah. Repeatedly. I found them a few days before we were scheduled to leave," I say, expecting to feel some weight disappear now that I've told her. But I don't feel anything "lift." I just feel . . . empty.

"What?" Bekah gasps, wide-eyed.

"Yes. She cheated. Do you see now why I'm not so sure about ever having a serious girlfriend again?" I pick the magazine off my toast and scrape the marmalade off the paper with my knife, spreading it back on the toast. I take a bite and chew until all I can hear is the chomping of my teeth.

"But . . . but you didn't tell us—"

"—Of course I didn't tell you. It's pathetic and somewhat embarrassing."

"Pathetic and embarrassing?" Rebekah places a gentle hand on my wrist, her anger dissipating. "No it isn't, Nik. It's heartbreaking, sure. And awful of her. God, I hate her!"

"Twelve years, Bekah," I remind her. "I didn't tell you this to get your pity. I told you so you'd understand."

"I . . . I haven't known for fifteen years! I've known for five seconds. This is still news to me, big brother. Give me a moment to process this," she says.

I finish my toast while Bekah "processes" the information regarding Katherine's infidelity, and stand to make myself another slice. The last one tasted a bit too much like ink and hatred.

"So, is that why whenever we've visited England in the past you refuse to contact Marcel?" Bekah asks five minutes later.

The toaster dings and I contemplate my answer as I slide the toast onto my plate. I turn around and lean against the kitchen counter, folding my arms over my chest.

"Yes," I say simply.

"And why that one time we thought we saw Katherine at Sainsbury's you ducked the cart until we realised it was just her sister?"

Deciding my toast is done cooling off, I turn once more and spread butter and marmalade over the golden bread.

"Yes," I say again.

"And why you're afraid of committing to Caroline?"

That one throws me off kilter. I nearly slice my thumb with the knife.

"Not just Caroline," I say, "but, essentially, yes."

Bekah's silent for a moment. I eat my slice of toast at the counter, refusing to look at her.

"It's not really my place to tell you this," Bekah says. I listen intently. "But Caroline's ex cheated on her too. With that awful patient of yours, Hayley. Caroline's been in the same boat as you as far as commitment issues go, minus all the sleeping around."

_Of course._

This explains why Caroline's been so helpful when it comes to my trust issues. Why she's been saying more and more that my depression seems to be fading.

Because she's been through it all before.

"You're the first guy in five years she's managed to look at without wanting to cut of his dick."

"Don't say that word," I order automatically.

"Why not? Dick. Dick, dick, dick," she taunts.

"Because it sounds weird coming out of your mouth," I say, cringing. Then, "The first guy?"

Bekah's mood softens. "In five years. That's the trouble with small towns like this one, Nik. It's not often you meet a new man."

I have found it odd that mine and Caroline's paths hadn't crossed before Bekah introduced us, however drunkenly. Especially considering her friendship with Bekah. And the fact that I've lived here twelve years.

I wonder if I've seen her. If I saw her when she was still in high school, clothed in the cheerleading uniform I've heard so much about.

I wonder if she saw me.

* * *

><p>The door swings open less than thirty seconds after I knock. Caroline stands on the other side, wearing an apron. She looks tousled and there's flour covering her clothes and hands. Her hair sits like a ball on top of her head, but instead of looking tacky, she looks mesmerising.<p>

"Hi," she says quietly. She wipes her hands on her apron, but I don't think it helps.

"Hello," I respond. I think I'd forgotten how beautiful she was.

But here she is, breathtakingly stunning.

"Do you want to come in?" She asks eventually, opening the door wider.

I nod and slink inside, jumping when the door closes. I turn to face Caroline. I'm beyond nervous. Shaking, I think.

Caroline's blue eyes stare at with me with wonder, and she speaks before I'm ready for her to.

"Why didn't you call?"

"I don't know."

"That's a lie."

She's quick. I have to give her credit for that. And she isn't taking any of my shit.

"Okay," I acquiesce. "I do know."

Caroline started moving about her tiny kitchen. I've never been to her apartment before, but when I called and asked to see her she gave me the address and room number right away.

The flat is small. One bedroom. Barely any moving about space. It suits her completely.

I watch as she opens her oven and removes a tray of cookies. They smell like heaven.

"Why?" She says without looking at me. She places the tray on her clean counter and finally catches my eye.

I say nothing. I don't think I _can_.

"Okay," she breathes, and I imagine she's trying to hold in her anger.

I'm acting like a child. Bekah would not be pleased with me.

"Tell me you meant it, Klaus," she begs softly. Almost tiredly. "Tell me you felt what I did."

I laugh. "You don't know what you're asking."

Caroline thwacks her hands on her apron. Flour flies in the air like chalk dust. "_Seriously_, why are you so afraid of this? I thought, I don't know, that we had some weird . . . connection thing. Am I wrong?"

"I'm not afraid," I say, answering only one portion of her question. _Coward, coward, coward_.

"For fuck's sake! Then _tell me_!" Caroline cries, her face growing red.

And I'm afraid. I _am _afraid.

"Of course I felt something!" I almost shout, overwhelmed. By every fucking thing that's happened to me since Katherine cut my heart from my chest. I cast my eyes downward.

Quieter, I say, "Yes, okay? Alright? I admit it, I like you." Not only am I acting like a child, but I sound like one too.

This day just gets better and better.

I hear laughter. Fits of giggles that implode into a full-on laugh-attack. Alarmed, I search Caroline's face frantically. Her eyes are welled with tears that she fights to keep them from trickling down her cheeks.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She says when she's calmed down. She swipes her forehead with the sleeve of her red, Christmas-themed jumper and moves in front of me, just as she did back at The Grill, before everything fell apart in my hands.

"I'm scared too, you know," she whispers against the hairs covering my chin. Oh, her breath is like sugar. "And I'm sort of angry that you didn't call, but I understand, because I'm scared too."

"You don't seem scared," I say, obscenely aware of how close our bodies are.

She steps away from me, and I want to pull her back, but I don't when I see she's removing her apron. Folding it neatly on the counter, she returns and grabs my hand. I hold my breath as she moves it beneath her sweater. Her skin is warm. Too hot. And so smooth. She stops our hands once I feel something lacy jam against my fingers.

"Feel that?" She asks softly.

"What, your bra? Yes."

"No, you idiot," she reprimands, but I see she's smiling. "My heartbeat."

"Oh, that," I say. "I can feel that too." It's quick, jutting into the tips of my fingers.

"You've ruined me Klaus," she says, and that sounds bad, so I try to take my hand back. But she holds it in place. "Since we met, I've not been able to sleep properly. Eating's like a chore now. What are you doing to me?"

I can't stand it anymore. Our distance. Because even though I'm touching her, right below her breast, and the feel of her skin is turning me on, we just aren't close enough.

She's mad, but I can fix that. With time, or with kisses. Or therapy, maybe. But she's also nervous, and afraid. And I can deal with that, because I am too.

_Dammit, Niklaus. You're thirty. Get a grip. _

That request seems impossible, though. I can't get a grip.

With my hand still plastered to Caroline's torso, I steadily dip my head and gently—oh so incredibly gently—press my lips to hers.

Instantly, she responds, her teeth sinking calmly into my lower lip. I groan against my best efforts to hold the sound in my throat.

Caroline breaks away first, my mouth still puckered and searching for hers. Soundlessly, she claps our foreheads together and exhales. Neither of us open our eyes.

"I'm terrified," she says. "Bekah said she told you about my ex."

"Bastard," I say, and she giggles. "Slow, I think. We should take this slow. Very, very slow. No rushing into anything."

I unlock my eyelids and find hers already open.

"Okay, I can agree to those terms."

"Good," I smile, slipping my hand out from under her jumper.

We unwind ourselves and Caroline goes to her abandoned cookies, scraping them onto a plate. She sets aside two, picks them up, and offers one to me. She takes a bite of the other one.

I suppose I should feel like I've just made a major breakthrough. The Bad-Boy turned Good. It's been a long time coming, though. The process started the moment I saw Caroline Forbes in her tooth-fairy getup, knees bare and face pulled into a scowl.

"I bake when I'm upset," she says, eyeing the cookie in my hand.

"I'm sorry I upset you," I offer belatedly. "For a thirty-year-old, I have a lot of the habits of a three-year-old."

"I don't know many three-year-olds who can kiss like you."

Sinking my teeth into the cookie, I shake my head. "Do you kiss lots three-year-olds?"

Caroline blushes. "That," she says, pointing an accusatory finger at me, "is definitely not what I meant."

"No," I say, haughty, "you meant that I'm an exceptional kisser."

Ignoring my comment, Caroline grabs a tub of pre-made icing from her refrigerator. "Wanna help me ice the cookies?"

And that's where Rebekah finds us, an hour later. In Caroline's kitchen, icing batch after batch of cookies and wearing matching grins on our faces as a result of a rude joke here and there, like we're lifelong lovers caught up in a storm of sugar and exposed emotions.

Not two almost strangers bound by their shared heartbreak.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue—Six Months Later<strong>

I lave my tongue against the seam of Caroline's sex, grinning when I feel her tug at my curls.

"Oh, god, you're too good with that thing," she moans, writhing. Her hips jerk along with my tongue.

My fingers find their place buried inside her wet warmth, and I think I hear her scream above the blood pounding in my ears. I remove my mouth and kiss the inside of her thigh.

"Shh," I whisper into her heated skin. "My sister might wake up."

"I don't give a fuck," Caroline says, moaning loudly again when I twist my fingers. I pull them out and clutch her ankles, pushing her legs apart.

Staring down at her completely undone and in my bed, I'm stunned by how lucky I am. I thought Katherine had destroyed any chance of me finding happiness, but all it took was one very amazing Caroline Forbes to thaw my cold heart.

That's not to say in the six months we've been together we've not had our troubles. Fights, though sporadic, are terrible with her. We're both stubborn, hotheaded people. Giving in is never an option. Sometimes the arguments get so bad we end up not speaking for a day or two. Or until one of us decides that being cold and lonely isn't worth always being right.

When that happens, we find comfort in each other's arms. In each other's hidden talents.

Bekah says Caroline's turned me into a moron. I can't really tell her she's wrong, either. Which sort of pisses me off.

But I'm happy, which is something I haven't been in a long time.

"Klaus," Caroline groans.

I realise I've been staring at her naked body for too long. Biting my lip, I brace myself and push into Caroline until her bottom touches my thighs.

Our elated sighs come out in unison.

"God, Klaus, you teased me enough last night," Caroline complains. "Just hurry up. Please. We promised we'd get Matt and Rebekah bagels this morning."

I bend over, my lips hovering over Caroline's, and remain still. It's a struggle though. I'm being squeezed and the pleasure is almost too much to handle.

"A new rule," I mutter under my breath. I bring my hand up to cup Caroline's cheek and smooth my thumb against her red skin. "No talking about my sister and her boyfriend while we're having sex. It does nothing for me."

Caroline simply nods her head, and I bend the final inch to kiss her, opening her mouth with my invasive tongue. When she's relaxed under me, I pick up my pace until we're covered in sweat. Until our breathing is ragged and desperate. Until I see nothing but Caroline.

Later, I comb her wet hair as she sits in my lap. Her body is facing mine, her legs wrapped around my waist. She always looks so young after we've showered.

"Do you know that I love you?" She says. Her fingers press into the skin above my heart, right where my new tattoo is. "Even if you did taint your pretty skin with this monstrosity."

The comb snags on a knot in Caroline's hair and she squeals, slapping my chest. "Monstrosity?" I say. "You picked the damn thing out."

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were gonna do it."

I release the knot with the comb and hold in a laugh. "We were in the tattoo parlour. I was shirtless and in a chair. What made you think I wasn't going to do it?"

"It's a bird's feather," she says through a childish giggle. "And it's . . . fading . . . into a stream of _birds_."

"I don't get what's so funny about it. You were fairly adamant about me getting it when you pointed to it."

"But it's so . . . girly."

"Okay, that's it," I growl, unlatching her legs from around my waist and pushing her into my mattress. I hold her arms down, watching in awe as she shrieks and pants and squirms.

I kiss her, because I've never been able to help myself when she looks like this. Like she's trapped in a state of pure and constant euphoria.

Six months we've been together. It seems like it's been longer.

It seems like it's not been long enough.

"You didn't answer my question," she says, lips swollen and wet, when I pull away.

"Your question…?" I goad, bending to graze her pale neck with my teeth.

She shivers. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps. "I love you," she says.

"I know," I say, and I really do know. Painfully. Caroline's love for me punches me in the gut whenever she _looks _at me. Touches me. Slides her body over mine, onto mine. "I love you too."

It's not so scary nowadays, saying these things to her. It was in the beginning, when we first realised how deep we were buried in the mess of our own feelings.

But it got easier. Slowly and steadily.

And now I can love her without fear.

* * *

><p>"Would you have preferred fairy wings?" I ask as we lie in my bed. We've not moved in together, but more often than not our nights are spent in one or the other's bed.<p>

"Fairy wings?" She repeats into my chest.

I breathe in the scent of her blonde hair, admiring the way it looks fanned across my skin. "Instead of the feather."

Caroline starts tracing the tattoo again. "Why fairy wings?"

"Because the first night we met you were dressed as the tooth-fairy."

"And you were dressed as a dentist," she says wistfully. She kisses my ribcage and I start to tremble.

"I _am_ a dentist."

"Yeah," Caroline scoffs. She kisses me again, over my heart this time. Her eyes meet mine, and in the dark her eyes shine the way they did on Hallowe'en. I can't look away. "And I'm the tooth-fairy."

****The End****

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Well...? Klaus wasn't too mushy, was he? **

**Again, thank you so much! **

**Until next time, fellow Klaroline lovers!**

**LoveIsATemple**


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